


Unrequited

by kirkisajerk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Freeform, M/M, No Sex, Not Beta Read, Pre-Reichenbach, Sexuality Crisis, Unrequited Love, first kiss gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 16:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1191114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirkisajerk/pseuds/kirkisajerk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Standing up from the sofa, in which Sherlock had previously surprised him with affection, John plodded to his own room. He had ruined everything. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, see it in the fresh memory of that night, and could hear it in each of Sherlock’s sobs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow so this is my first published fic thingy. Not even a fic more like a meaningless drabble. Yeah, this is really short with nothing happy whatsoever because that's how I roll. Hey maybe I'll write a happy second chapter but ya know.
> 
> *runs and hides away because no one edited this for me and I did it myself*
> 
> \-------EDIT--------
> 
> So, wrote a new chapter. Hope it makes it happier!

The fact that Sherlock was the one to make the first move left John utterly dumbfounded and in complete shock. The fact that he didn’t return the kiss left him filled with regret and confusion. His feelings for the detective were already complicated to say the least. Friendship was important, extremely important in fact. John rarely made such lasting friends. Having this one lasting friend suddenly make a move created a crushing internal crisis. Should he risk an entire relationship just for a few moments of bliss, or should he deny his feelings, and leave Sherlock crushed? The second thing that confused him, and perhaps more prominent, was was he okay with kissing a man?

 

John didn’t want to say he was having a sexuality crisis. That was just to desperately childish. He was what, forty some years old? His sexulaity was already figured out. He’d known it since he was a little boy and never questioned it.  _He was straight_.

 

Then again, Sherlock was a very good kisser.

 

John would of expected him to be rough, overbearing and dominant when kissing. Sherlock was a very commanding bloke naturally, so his style of kissing should reflect that, right? Wrong. Absolutely and utterly incorrect. The detective was soft and light, barely tracing John’s lips before making contact. And God, once he gained the confidence and made connection, he basically _fell_  into the kiss. Tugging at John’s bottom lip lightly as his eyes fluttered closed, and his hand resting on the blond’s cheek. It was as if Sherlock had wanted to do this for ages, and now he finally was relieving the painful tension of constantly fantasizing about John’s lips. Seemed silly, someone was beautiful and exotic as Sherlock wanting someone as plain as John. Now that John was reflecting on the night, perhaps that wasn’t such a far out theory.

 

John should have noticed Sherlock’s flirting beforehand. Sherlock’s observation skills obviously didn’t wear off on the blond however, because he completely missed it. The pupil dilation, catching glimpses below the belt, unnecessarily long eye contact… it all lead to one thing. Maybe John was truly blind to it, or perhaps he chose not to notice.

 

After the kiss, Sherlock was left sulking. It didn’t take a genius to notice the gesture wasn’t returned. John was as stiff as a board, eyes wide, shocked and terrified. So, leaning back and brushing himself off, Sherlock quickly scurried out of the living room.

 

“That was quite tedious. A good reminder that I do _not_ enjoy physical activities. Thank you for indulging in the experiment, Doctor Watson.” He frowned, portraying as much indifference as possible; he even added a little shrug, which caused John’s stomach to drop. Although John could see through the blatant cover up, he couldn’t help but feel like a mere pawn. A lab rat.

 

What made him cringe even more was the faint sound of Sherlock’s door closing, followed by a soft, pitiful crying. John Watson had made Sherlock Holmes cry, and God, he wanted to evaporate.

  
Standing up from the sofa, in which Sherlock had previously surprised him with affection, John plodded to his own room. He had ruined everything. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, see it in the fresh memory of that night, and could hear it in each of Sherlock’s sobs.

__________

 

What the hell had he done wrong? Everything seemed to make sense at the time. Leaning in for the kiss was only the next logical thing to do. John had been so _flirtatious_ , licking his lips and giggling like an idiot all night. God, the man was sitting as close to Sherlock as physically possible. John not liking- not being infatuated with Sherlock seemed to be an absurd thought. Sherlock had only took a calculated leap of faith.

 

Why did it backfire? Perhaps, (Sherlock couldn’t help but laugh at the thought) perhaps it was because John was struggling with his sexuality. Not able to understand that it didn’t matter- _horrified_ that he was attracted to a man. Because, oh, what a horrible monstrosity it would be to be caught dead with a _man_ , God forbid a man like _Sherlock_!

  
Sherlock collapsed down onto his bed, not bothering to change or turn of the lights. He simply through a cover over his head, half sobbing, half laughing. No one in the world could be more of a fuck up then Sherlock Holmes when it came to relationships, and Sherlock was just remembering that fact.


	2. In Which John Makes His Response Known

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So.” That’s always a good way to start off a discussion. So. So what? 'So, you kissed me last night and I made no physical response because of multiple sexual and internal crisis’. Is that what he was supposed to nonchalantly say? Perhaps add a ‘sorry about that. You’re welcome to kiss me again.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I realized it was far to mean to leave this unresolved. Again, no beta on this. If you see errors, please tell me omg.

The next morning was painfully tense. John had rolled out of bed that sunday morning around noon, eyes still heavy with sleep and head throbbing. He had missed his alarm clock and it was still ringing. In fact, it must of been shrilly beeping for hours, considering the fact that it was set for nine o’clock sharp. Turning it off and rubbing his eyes, John recollected the events of last night with a shudder.

 

Sherlock.

 

John gathered that the detective had heard his alarm go off, and made the decision not to wake the blond or even turn the thing off. That wasn’t a good sign. Another bad omen was the fact that Sherlock sat completely still, eyes closed, holding a full cup of tea in his delicate hands and making no move to drink it. John, hands shoved in his pajama pockets, decided to make the dangerous move of sitting next to him.

 

“So.” That’s always a good way to start off a discussion. So. So what? ‘ _So, you kissed me last night and I made no physical response because of multiple sexual and internal crisis_ ’. Is that what he was supposed to nonchalantly say? Perhaps add a ‘ _sorry about that. You’re welcome to kiss me again_.’ Hopefully Sherlock could have already gathered that himself. He always gathered things with little evidence. He was the world’s only consulting detective for God’s sake. If anyone, Sherlock Holmes would understand why John was so hesitant.

 

He didn’t.

 

“How about we forget the events of last night. I’m quite certain I had a bit too much to drink at the time. It didn’t actually mean anything.” Sherlock breathed, opening his eyes slightly and staring absentmindedly into his cup. He looked a complete mess. The detectives eye’s were red and puffy, as if he had been crying all night. His hair still wasn’t combed or tamed, and his shirt was buttoned incorrectly. John huffed out a tentative laugh and drummed his hands on the table.

 

“Ah, no, how about we actually talk about this. You hardly finished your glass of wine, Sherlock. You may of been tipsy, but no where near drunk.” John tilted his head and tried to smile, lighten up the atmosphere a bit. Sherlock didn’t seem to comply, simply rolling his eyes and putting his mug down.

 

“Drop it. What happened last night doesn’t matter. Why? Because you didn’t show any interest whatsoever. Am I offended to have such a negative response? Mildly. Let me stress on that choice of adverb. I’m hardly upset about it. But that really doesn’t matter any longer. I’m sure you’d prefer _not_ to explain why you’re uncomfortable kissing a man- although you’re obviously attracted to them. In fact, I have little interest in listening to your sexuality crisis. I’m not your therapist, perhaps you could talk to her about it.” He spat through clenched teeth, standing up and turning to leave the room. Hastily, John grabbed his wrist, preventing him from leaving.

 

“I am _not_ having a sexuality crisis.” The blond hissed back, raising his eyebrows in the attempt of making a point. It was lost on Sherlock, who groaned out some strained annoyed sound and rolled his eyes dramatically. Alright, time to make a more drastic point. John pulled Sherlock’s wrist closer down to him, making the man hunch over suddenly, and forcing eye contact. With a light lick of his lips, he made contact, pressing his lips onto Sherlock’s full ones. He decided it would be best to be as soft as Sherlock was the other night. Barely grazing Sherlock’s top lip before tugging at it slightly. Letting his eye’s close as he savored the moment of Sherlock’s surprize.

  
As unexpected as the kiss was, it was over in a second. John smirked and stood up, letting go of Sherlock’s hand.  “Stop assuming things.” He breathed, as Sherlock watched him leave the room, blushing madly with wide eyes.


End file.
